People that aren't usually children
by Ruler of the Fake Empire
Summary: The weird day England was a kid and France was the saviour and Alfred got to play big brother for once.


"Hey, Iggy! I'm here! Come out, come out!" America pushed into the house his arms filled with bags of hamburgers and fries. His glasses hung from his shirt and his blue eyes shone with confidence. He heard no reply to his loud and largely obnoxious greeting, but he wasn't really looking for one either. Though he did wonder where the green eyed man had gotten too. He dropped the bags of mcdonald's on the table and yawned. He had spent a good three quarters of the night trying very hard to defeat japan in Xbox games. Needless to say he hadn't succeeded in his endeavour. Not even close. "Yo! England! Where are you, dude?"

He moved deeper into the house. He noticed an abandoned tea cup on the coffee table, still half filled with tea. As he wandered vacantly down the corridor he began to hear the faintest sound. At first he figured it was the rattling of a pipe and that he had just caught Arthur having a shower. But then… pipes tend not to wail. He paused in fright. He was sure it wasn't Arthur either, this wasn't the wail of a man. It was the wail of a child. A small child at that. He remembered when he was a kid that England would come over with singed eyebrows and hair that smelt like smoke. Given this it wasn't surprising that the first thought Alfred had was "Oh god, he's started experimenting on kids". Naturally he dismissed this immediately. Arthur could be pretty thoughtless, but he wasn't that bad. He would never do that to a kid. Ever.

Alfred continued down the hall way figuring that since he was the hero he would have to go find the boy because obviously England had no idea what he was going. Considering that he had practically raised America, this actually surprised Alfred. If he remembered correctly Arthur was great with kids. He stopped briefly at the door to basement, it seemed that this was where the crying child was stationed. He wondered again whether Arthur really was experimenting on the kid. The basement was where Arthur did his experiments.

"Jesus" He muttered to himself. He ran his fingers through his hair and placed his on the door knob, his heart beating frantically with fright. He had never been very good with children. That was always Arthur field of work. Cocking things up and children, that was Arthur's basic shtick. Taking a deep not-so-manly breath he swung open the door open and almost squealed. Right down the stairs was a little boy wailing in a pile of clothes, tears streaming down his little rosy cheeks. "Jesus" He muttered the lord again. The boy saw him and stared to wail even louder. It was quite obvious that the boy was crying with fear. He was terrified, the poor kid. The boy's wails echoed around the low room. The boy covered his eyes with his small infant hands, tears falling onto his fingers. He looked so small. It was then that America noticed the huge, mammoth eyebrows. They stretched bushily over his emerald eyes. "Oh my god" He tried to calm himself as he thought about his options. Option a) England had a son he didn't know about. Option b) England had gotten shrunk and his memory wiped. Option c) England had been turned miraculously into a child. He highly doubted that it was possible that England had a kid. There was nowhere left to colonise. As for option b he didn't seem just small. He also seemed to have not only the body of a child, but also the personality of one. Alfred had know Arthur for a very long time and above all else Alfred figured he was very rational. Far too rational, in fact, to be bawling his eyes out. There was also the fact that the small boy was sitting in a pile of clothes that looked like something Arthur would wear. He even had the socks Alfred had brought him last year for christmas hanging loosely around his ankles. On a vague whim America rushed towards the kid, who screamed in fright. Of course the child version of England didn't yet know that America existed and instead only saw a tall, strange man running towards him. America froze immediately. He didn't want England to keep crying, but it seemed the rushed approach wouldn't really work with the child. He tried to go up to him a little more slowly and the boy only whimpered with fear. Alfred held his hands out to the man who was oddly shaped like the boy and England's childish frown deepened.

"W-who are you?" the boy stuttered uncertainly.

"My name is America. Are you England?" His voice was slow and careful. Maybe he wasn't as not fabulous with children as he had first thought, that was good. The little boy nodded, perhaps calming down a little. He was still crying, but at least he wasn't wailing anymore. Perhaps the nation was remembering the older man just a little, or at least Alfred was being recognised as not a threat and perhaps an ally. Alfred bent down and picked up the child, the trousers falling off his far too small waist. He held his little fists to his chest, Arthur's dress shirt still hanging on to his thin shoulders. The boy was tiny, even for a child. Alfred held him under his armpits with such a small comforting smile. The smile must not of been as comforting as he thought because the boy started to wail again. Alfred rashly held the boy to his shoulder and patted the boy's back.

"Oh, Iggy. Please be quiet, I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you, dude" He rocked himself from side to side, his hips swaying. He rubbed circled into the boy's back and stayed standing with him until the boy stopped his weeping. Before Alfred knew it the boy had fallen asleep. Apparently going from man to boy was a little too tiring for a four year old's body.

"God, Iggy, what has happened to you?" Alfred muttered to himself, before climbing back up the stairs and into the kitchen. He grabbed his phone from the counter and a few hamburgers, he wondered as he did if a tiny baby boys liked hamburgers. Considering that he had no idea who Alfred was he was probably still stuck somewhere in the middle ages, probably before that actually. Poor kid, he thought again. He yawned to himself and looked down at the boy in his arms. A round tearstained face sleeping soundly. He frowned deeply as he leant against the bench. While he had managed to get Arthur to stop wailing he had no idea how to take care of a kid and England still had no idea who he was. He didn't really know anyone who knew how to look after a kid. Canada, his brother, didn't know how to look after a kid. He didn't know how to look after a kid. The whole 'kids for nations' thing didn't really happen anymore.

He started to click through the great8 in his head in hope that one of them had parenting experience. Russia probably knew how to look after a kid, he had raised both of his sisters after all, but there was no way that he was letting Ivan near baby England. The boy would probably be eaten alive or something. Italy and Germany were plenty nice and all, but Italy was hopeless and Germany was awkward. Japan was pretty old, but as far as Alfred knew he was also pretty inept with people in general. That left China and France. Alfred began to make his way to Arthur's bedroom, to put the boy to bed. China had raised half of Asia and they had ended up alright so he definitely had experience and he was basically harmless, but France was the jackpot. Francis had been around when Arthur was this age and he had raised Mathew. He was a little pervy, but he was no Russia. If he got creepy then America would be able to take him.

He lay little England down on one side of the bed and brought the blanket up to his chin. He would get hungry soon. Alfred frowned and got into bed beside to boy, to work out how to contact Francis and Yao. He scrolled through his contacts in search of their names. As he did he started to think. He had never thought about when Arthur was a kid. It had never even occurred to him that Arthur had once been young. It had always been the other way round, Arthur the rational adult and Alfred the young one.

Finally he found Francis' contact. He tapped it nervously and held his phone to his ear.

"Bonjour?" The frenchman's voice was unchanged since the last meeting.

"I need your help" Alfred couldn't think of anything else to say. He did need help. He had gotten lucky so far, but his luck was sure to fade.

"What is, Mon Cher? Are you in need of some romantic advice? Onhonhonhon" France being the land of love Francis was famous for his guidance of the romantic kind, but unfortunately that wasn't what Alfred was looking for.

"Er… no. Did you know Iggy when he was a kid?" He figured it was the best question to ask. He wasn't sure about France's age after all.

"Why yes I did, Mon Cher. Why do you ask?" Suspicion laced his voice, telling Alfred already knew. France was the man to ask for help in a situation such as this after all. Alfred looked down at the small boy beside him. He reached out and gently stroked the boy's forehead. Straw like hair quivering and swaying under his touch. Arthur was a lot softer in this form than he was in his older one.

"So, dude, I'm gonna send you a pic and you gotta promise not to freak out, Kay?" Alfred really did try very hard to sooth the stammer in his voice, but it was to no avail. Slowly he took a photo of England, careful not to disturb the boy. His hand still lingered on his forehead and he didn't move it. He figured that he kind of owed it to him. Arthur had protected him when he was little so Alfred would protect him now. He sent the photo to Francis with a sigh. He brought the phone back to his ear and leant back on the headboard, starring at the celling he had painted with Arthur, many years ago. Through the phone he could practically feel Francis sitting down.

"Oh mon dieu ! Comment est-ce arrivé? Est-il correct? Oh, fuck" France was dipping into into his native language and back out again, forgetting that Alfred, sadly, did not speak french.

"What the hell did you just say? I don't understand you" Alfred almost panicked. If Francis was hopeless then what was he? He didn't know how to look after a kid so if France fell out Arthur was going to be up for one hell of a second childhood.

"I will be over in a few minutes and I swear to god, if this is you have hurt him I will not hesitate to kill you" and with that Francis hung up and Alfred was once again left alone with his thoughts and a little boy who was slowly starting to stir. First Arthur's eyebrows scrunched together and he tense and untensed under the covers. Finally, after many minutes, Arthur's green eyes opened. Arthur's eyes were probably the only feature went unchanged. For a kid he sure had insightful eyes. "You know kid, you're causing me a hell of a load of stress right now. I hope you know that" Arthur's yes slid over to him as Alfred's hand moved his bangs out of his face.

"Are you one of Scotty's friends?" The boy asked quietly.

"Your brother? No" He had met Scotland a few times in the past. He drunk almost as much as Arthur did. That was basically all he could remember. "I'm one of your friends, you just haven't met me yet" The boy seemed delighted with this.

"Are you a time traveler?" The boy looked at him with such an excited look that Alfred couldn't help but laugh.

"No, I think that it would be more appropriate to say you are" Just as he said it they heard the loud sound of a frantic frenchman barreling into the house.

"Amérique! Where are you?!"

"In here!" They listened as a series of loud footsteps ran up the staircase. Arthur crawled into Alfred's arms in fear, as if once he had accepted that Alfred wasn't out to get him he was the safest option. For the first time it occurred to Alfred that perhaps Arthur didn't remember anyone, in that case they were royally screwed. Still he gripped onto the boy in a soothing manner, once again rubbing his back as the child buried his face in to his shirt.

Francis appeared in the door way, looking frantic and worried. Ah, Alfred had forgotten. These two had been friends since probably the dawn of time. That was quite a bond they had.

"England, mon peu d'amour" very slowly Arthur looked over his shoulder and for a second fear was still etched on his young features. Then clarity. With a look of final recognition the small boy launched himself out of Alfred's arms. Scrambling off the bed he ran towards France. France was different for before. Taller and older, but France was France no matter what he looked like. France was annoying, but at least he was safe.

"France! France! I don't know whats going on!" With a look of relief on his face Francis bent and scooped the boy into his arms and holding his face to the child's, just like he had done when they were children

"I know, mon amour, it is going to me just fine. We just have to find out what happened and it will all go back to normal" France held the boy tightly. Alfred had never seen this side of France. He had never been around when the older nation had been raising Mathew and he hadn't even existed when he was busy raising England.

After that they all went down to the basement, to discover the circumstances of England's less than England like appearance. Despite all odds France was a great dad. He got Arthur some chocolate from the kitchen and within the hour France had figured out how Arthur had gotten into his little situation(a spell gone wrong). For a guy who acted like a idiot and perved on everyone France was pretty good at magic. And while he had been doing the book thing Alfred and Arthur had played together. They got on famously. While Arthur was totally delighted with his new friend and his magical lighting up brick Alfred was simply amused.

The next time Alfred came to visit Arthur he had found him perfectly man shaped drinking tea on his porch, reading a book, like a good man should.


End file.
